


Indefatigable

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: The most reactive Helium she had ever encountered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is potentially room for a sequel.

The way Erin looked at her sometimes scared her. It scared her more than rogue Plutonium-240 left in the lab, or the possibility of accidentally setting off a synchrotron without proper containment facilities.

It scared her because she didn’t think Erin knew she was doing it. And even if she did, it wasn’t like she could bring it up in casual conversation, or address it while they fired protons at ghosts, because both of those ideas were more terrifying than the way Erin looked at her sometimes: fear turned up to 11. It scared her because she didn’t know what to do with a look like that. It scared her because she knew a look like that, and it scared her because it was hers.

Erin always left her feeling slightly out of sync with the world. It was unnerving. Before Erin the world made so much sense, like watching thousands of threads criss and cross and link together while she stood, watching it all. It was easy. She knew where she stood: she could stand herself wherever she wanted, and see everything she wanted to see. But Erin was different: different to her because suddenly she wasn’t the Fate cutting the string and watching it unfurl. She was just…Holtz. Plain Holtz, kicked out place and into orbit. Nothing about Erin fit her picture. She couldn’t work out how Erin fit into it all, because all she could see was Erin.

That was the look. That’s why it scared her so goddamn much. Because Erin was looking at her in the same way: like all she could see was Holtz. Like the only thing worth seeing was Holtz. Like Holtz – strung into orbit around Erin – was the center of her universe. Or at least an important part of it, looking at her with a type of unconditional devotion usually reserved for innocent and fluffy puppies.

What scared her more than any of that, though, was that she liked it. God, she liked it more than anything else: more than all her blueprints, and prototypes, and her X-files collectors edition VHS box set. She never wanted Erin to ever stop looking at her like that. It was purely selfish, too, because when Erin looked at her like that it made her pause, and freeze, and churned up her stomach into something made of sturdier stuff. And she thinks maybe the same thing happens to Erin, because Erin, who never meets the eye of a stranger; Erin, who lives her life by a fear writhing under that flawless tweed professor that Holtz so loves to watch slip away – Erin always looks straight back, and it’s like Helium to Holtz.

Absolutely everything is Erin. E for everything you’d ever want. She thinks she could live like that: living for those looks Erin sends her as she tells a story; mouth full of pizza and arms waving hoping Erin likes her story. A pointless story not pointless if Erin laughs. She could live for the look sent her way as they sit, crouched in her shower back at her tip of an apartment, slowly pouring drain cleaner down the plug hole. Those tiny, insignificant moments that Erin makes into _everything_.

Holtz has to set down some ground rules, especially after last time. Not that Erin _knows_ about the “ground rules” – well, she hasn’t outright _told_ her about them, but Erin must at least feel them in some way, because neither has so much as brushed fingertips since the last time. The last time Erin’s hand rested on her bare arm, and Holtz’s entire world shrunk to that single sensation, and it wasn’t so much electric as the only thing she could feel in that moment and that was its own form of overwhelming agony to her stimulated brain, and Holtz could do nothing but jerk away as Erin did the same, neither making eye contact, or ever acknowledging what had happened.

God forbid Erin’s skin touches her own. And yet she can’t help but…but want whatever deity is nicest and most merciful to allow it just one more time. At least. Preferably several times more. And it’s not like Erin’s exactly helping, sliding up to her at any opportunity – although Holtz decided very firmly when composing the “ground rules” that clothes brushing was definitely allowed, and so maybe she wasn’t exactly helping herself either. Everything seemed to revolve around Erin: would Erin like this gadget? Could Erin help her? Where was Erin? Did Erin need help? And yet everything involving Erin was too much. Too much uncertainty and too much fear: too much to deal with. One of those problems to ignore because Erin – just Erin, she told herself – was enough, and she didn’t need anymore.

So both of them were entirely incapable of resisting temptation, though Holtz always thought she was the one with impulse control problem; right up until Erin knocked on her door at close to midnight one Sunday evening after a day of busting ghosts and kicking ass. Well – she buzzed. An ungodly sound, ripping through Holtz’s peaceful evening. She was sat, slouched and cross-legged in front of a low coffee table, tinkering with a clock close to her face.

The buzzer rang again – as loud and obnoxious as the first time – and Holtz frowned to herself. She tossed the clock mechanism back on the table and heaved herself up, wiping her hands on her boxer shorts as she padded over to the door. She slid her goggles to the top of her head as the buzzer rang again, and she pressed the button to answer.

‘Stoooooppp ringing: Holtzmann is here.’

Silence.

‘Holtz?’

‘Erin! Hi there! I gotta say, I thought it would take a lot more to get you up here. And this late?’ Holtz gasped dramatically, as offended as a Southern Belle, and she grinned at the wall, knowing Erin was probably blushing and studying the ground at her feet.

‘Holtz? Can you let me up? Please?’

Holtz frowned for a second. Erin sounded tired. Holtz buzzed her up without another word. She opened the door to her apartment and leant against the doorframe, waiting for Erin to clamber up the stairs. The building was old, and the elevator had given out years ago. She had, of course, offered to fix it, but the landlord had refused for reasons unknown to her. The reason, had she bothered to inquire, was that he thought her certifiably insane, unstable, and a general menace to society – all things she would neither confirm or deny. But she paid her rent, was always cheerful, and the Mayor had phoned personally on her behalf – and who was he to argue with the Mayor?

Soon enough, Holtz heard the thud of boots against linoleum, and straightened herself up a little before Erin came into view. Erin trudged up the last few steps, coming to stand in front of Holtzmann, panting slightly. Holtz took in the sight: Erin was damp, hair plastered down with ecto-projection that covered most of her jumpsuit and any exposed patch of skin, and some not exposed. Holtz could see a trail leading down the back of her neck. It had gone past the point of viscous liquid and transcended into the realm of solid gunk, cracking slightly as Erin moved.

‘Can I…?’

Holtz turned and lead the way into her small, cluttered apartment. Erin looked so tired – so beaten up by today’s bust and, Holtz presumed, the lack of a working shower at her own place - that she was struck with the urge to cover the woman in blankets and hand her a cup of green tea, and possibly some veggie chips.

As it was, she led Erin to the bathroom. She only had one and it was connected to her bedroom. Erin stood at the threshold to the bathroom as Holtz began to run a bath.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ called Holtz. Not in a way that suggested Erin should in any way curb her desire to snoop around the place, but with the careless tone Holtz often took when reminding the group that she worked with dangerous materials and had a tendency to construct explosive things.

Erin therefore took the opportunity to look around. Holtz’s bed was unmade, but her floor was generally clear of clothing. She noticed the leg of a pair of pants poking out from a closed drawer, and surmised that Holtz must shove her clothes (unfolded) carelessly into nooks and crannies of overflowing closets and drawers. The floor by the side of the bed – the side Erin assumed Holtz slept on – was littered with folded sheaves of paper and a few pens and pencils, as well as a ruler and a graphic calculator. There were a ridiculous number of books piled on side-tables, and on chests of drawers, and on the one chair in the room, and some spilling onto the floor. Not all of them were science-related, noted Erin. She perched on the edge of the bed, aware of the slime coating her clothing, and reached for the book obviously being read, spine up on the side-table.

‘Have you read it?’

Erin jumped slightly. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘What’s it about?’

‘Murder. Sex. Intrigue.’ Holtz stood in the doorway to the bathroom, water running in the background. ‘You should read it.’

‘Erin placed the book back down where she found it. ‘I’ll add it to my list.’

‘Gilbert, Gilbert. This isn’t some light book club recommendation; this is SAT material study required reading ectera ectera recommendation.’ Holtz gestured to the book with her head. ‘The book is yours.’

Erin shook her head, smiling slightly. ‘You’re reading it.’

‘I’ve read it before. Now I’m passing on the wisdom of The Great Tartt to you.’ Erin giggled as Holtz wiggled her eyebrows, before she remembered the bath was running and hopped away to turn off the water.

‘The room is yours,’ she declared, as Erin stood up and walked in.

‘Thanks Holtz.’ She turned around as Holtz began to close the door. ‘I’m sorry I-‘

‘Ah ah. Shush. It’s fine. You smell anyway. Mi casa et tu casa.’

‘That’s not Spanish.’

‘Is too.’

‘Holtz, I speak Spanish. That’s not Spanish.’

‘You speak 5th Grade Spanish Erin Gilbert, and anyway I’m right and you’re wrong and I’m sorry I can’t hear you anymore over the sound of you having a bath,’ sung Holtz as she closed the door to the bathroom. ‘Shout if you need anything,’ she added as an afterthought.

Left alone and Holtz was at a loss. She stood staring at the closed white door, listening for the ruffling of clothes being pulled off, and the light splash of a body being lowered into water. She let out a deep breath, taking a second, before sitting on the foot of her bed. Her leg jiggled, bare foot tapping against wood as she waited for Erin. Erin would probably want a change of clothes. She might need some more shampoo. Did she know how to work the showerhead attached to the bath? Holtz stood up, realizing she should probably tell Erin about the showerhead attached to the bath, when she heard the unmistakable sound of high-pressure water from the bathroom. She sat back down. Her leg resumed bouncing. She thought about returning to her clock, but then she might not be able to hear Erin if she needed anything. She thought about making some tea to pass the time, but she wasn’t sure if Erin would want some: if she did and Holtz didn’t brew her any while brewing herself some, she would be angry at herself for not thinking of Erin; and if Holtz did fix her a mug, it might be viewed as a presumption on Holtz’s part that Erin might be thinking of staying any longer than necessary. She thought about trying to read some more of her book, but knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She hoped Erin would like it. Thinking on it, she wasn’t even sure if Erin read fiction regularly. They’d never talked about it.

‘Holtz?’ Erin’s voice was tentative, so quiet that Holtz wasn’t quite sure she’d even heard it. She stood up, walking slowly towards the door.

‘Erin? Ya need something?’

‘Can you, um…can you come in here?’

Holtz’s eyes widened comically, though she felt nothing like laughing. ‘You okay in there Gilbert?’

‘Yep! Yes. I just…need you. I just need you to…uh, wash my back?’

Holtz let the silence settle.

‘Holtz?’

‘Coming!’ She didn’t really think about that answer. It came out fast and her tongue tripped over the word. There was no way she could go in there and see Erin Gilbert naked, and just calmly wash her back like it was _nothing._ Granted, she had put in an almost obscene amount of bubble bath – as if any amount of bubble bath was ever obscene, she scoffed as she poured in a third of the bottle – which should provide some rudimentary covering, but stepping in there would break at least 30 of her “ground rules.” Don’t stare at Erin while she’s changing into her ghostbustering gear. Don’t lean in too close. Don’t touch Erin’s bare skin at all ever under any circumstances.

‘Houston, we have a problem,’ muttered Holtz under her breath, before pushing down the handle of the door.

The humidity hit her and she took a deep breath. She kept her eyes down, focusing intently on the floor as she closed the door behind her.

‘Where do you want me?’ Holtz tried to keep her voice level and pretend everything was _absolutely fine_ – but she struggled to look up. Her eyes caught sight of the mirror above the sink; she was eternally grateful it was steamed up with condensation, blurring the image of Erin sat, knees up in the bath.

Erin shifted nervously. ‘I need you to…the slime?’

Holtz nodded a little to vigorously. ‘Right.’

‘You can look up, Holtz. You’re going to… see it all anyway.’ Holtz went pink. Had she looked up she would have seen Erin’s own beet-red face.

‘Just wanted to give you some privacy Gilbert. Before you give me a strip-tease.’

‘I’m not-‘ Erin huffed. ‘This is _not_ a strip-tease.’

Holtz grinned, feeling more comfortable at Erin’s indignant tone. She walked over to the bath, finally looking up. Erin was sat, knees poking through the layer of bubbles, head cast over her shoulder as she watched Holtz approach and perch on the back of the bath. At Holtz’s grin, Erin blushed further as she defended herself:

‘If I was giving you a strip-tease, you’d know about it.’

Holtz’s grin widened. ‘Feel free to offer _anytime_.’

‘Shut up Holtz.’

‘Yes Ma’am.’ Holtz reached for a nearby loofa. She had never used it: it had been a present from a half-girlfriend (Holtz wasn’t sure they had ever actually formally been dating, but the other girl had been adamant, and cried at their “break-up”. Holtz had been very confused by the whole thing.) who had thought a selection of bath salts, gels, and lathering equipment was the pinnacle of gift-giving. The loofa was purple.

‘Do you want me to scrape it off? I have some hand soap if you want it. Though you’ve got most of it off, probably due to your _astounding_ expertise in this area.’

‘You can just scrape it off. Turns out if you leave it, and sweat hard enough, ectoplasm solidifies.’

‘ _Nice._ The things you do for science, Gilbert.’

Erin grimaced. ‘Just once I want you guys to get ghost… _chunder_ all over you.’

‘Just once?’ teased Holtz, as she began to scrape, peeling it away with her fingers as gently as she could.

Erin looked over her shoulder at Holtz. ‘Maybe twice.’

Holtz flashed her a grin, placing the pieces of solid ectoplasm on her bare thigh as she concentrated on not peeling Erin’s pale skin off with it, terrified of damaging her in any way. She steadfastly ignored the gentle splatter of moles on Erin’s back, or how smooth her skin was, or the way her shoulders rippled every time she shifted under Holtz’s gentle touch.

‘I’ve just been putting it in the bath. Sorry.’

‘This bath has seen many things, my friend – perhaps too much. I’m sure it will cope.’

Erin waved a hand listlessly through the green-tinged water, swiping away clusters of bubbles. There was a reason she had all those rules, thought Holtz, as she began to gently lather Erin’s back with water. The angle she was at was awkward, her body twisted as she kept her feet out of the bath while the edge of the tub dug into to her ass; but she’d be damned before she even thought about moving.

‘Hand soap?’

‘Hm?’

‘You said earlier you had some hand soap. Why would I need hand soap?’ asked Erin.

‘It is _the best_ thing to remove ecto-projection. That, or those apple-scented floor wipes you can get to put at the end of those special mops. Good if you’re on the move, but not the _easiest_ on the hair.’

Instead of asking why, or how, Holtz knew this, Erin simply took it as common knowledge to Holtz: something she of all people would just know, because it was clearly common sense.

‘What type of hand soap?’

‘Any regular one will do. I prefer the normal stuff though, instead of the weird, heavy scented floral stuff. Smells like…’

‘Public toilet.’

‘ _Exactly_. Not nice.’

‘Plain, antibacterial soap. Who knew?’

‘Nobody. Until me,’ replied Holtz, proudly. She beamed like a child and Erin chuckled. She liked having Holtz near her. She liked the feeling of Holtz lathering her back. Her fingers grazing her skin so gently, as if she were handling something explosive, or unstable: memorizing contours unconsciously, mapping space Holtz wondered if she’d ever see again. She hoped she would. God she hoped she would.

The temperature of the water was slowly turning lukewarm, and Erin was beginning to get uncomfortable sat in the dirty water; but she didn’t want Holtz to stop. She was acutely aware of Holtz’s presence, of every move she made as she tenderly washed Erin’s back that was now long clean. It was taking all of her concentration not to glance over her shoulder and watch Holtz, no matter how unsubtle that might have been. Just one look.

‘Alright, I think you’ve had the maximum Holtzmann Spa Treatment,’ said Holtz, finally putting down the loofa and standing up. She twisted out the knots in her back, stretching her arms and letting out a dramatic sigh. Holtz cast a look over her shoulder at Erin curled up in the bath but quickly turned her head back around to face forward, cheeks tinged with pink. The bubbles that had previously been numerous and had sufficiently covered Erin, had dwindled, and Holtz felt Erin a little too exposed to be appropriate for friends. Even friends that washed other friends’ backs. Close friends.

‘I will. Go and make some coffee. Yes. Black two sugars right?’ Holtz bolted from the room before Erin could answer, or process that Holtz remembered how she took her coffee.

Holtz hoped Erin wanted coffee. Maybe she didn’t want coffee. Maybe she just wanted to leave and go home and go to bed. It was too late now. She was already making the coffee. Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Erin approach from behind, and as she turned around to grab a couple of mugs Holtz froze, catching the eye of an Erin wrapped in nothing but her Nemo-themed towel, standing in the doorway of her kitchen.

‘By the love of Beelzebub don’t scare me like that Gilbert,’ chided a shaken Holtz, willing herself to look anywhere but Erin’s exposed skin.

Erin laughed self-consciously, arms wrapped around her body. ‘I’m sorry. I borrowed a towel I just...I was wondering if you have any clothes I can borrow? I’ll give them back. Obviously. But I don’t want to but the jumpsuit back on, because it’s covered in-‘

‘Ghost vomit. Gotcha.’ Holtz walked towards Erin, nothing how her legs seemed smooth and endless and were really quite spectacular legs. ‘Lemme find you a shirt or something.’ As she walked past, her arm brushed Erin’s, and it occurred to her how ridiculous it was that every time they remotely touched – even just a little – her entire world became Erin. How Erin felt next to her. What Erin might be thinking.

Erin stood passive as Holtz rummaged around in her wardrobe and dressers for suitable clothes. She had been right: all the mess was neatly shoved into closets and left to collect, and Holtz had a habit of diving head first into the mess, swimming around until she found what she was looking for.

‘Here.’ Holtz handed her a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt with a gun-toting panda on it. ‘Jeans might be just a bit small with those legs of yours, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances, my lady.’

Erin blushed, reaching for the clothing and meeting Holtz’s gaze. ‘Thanks Holtz.’

Holtz coughed. ‘No problemo. I’ll just be…through here. Holla if you need me.’

Erin nodded as Holtz once again fled from her. She put the clothes to her face, and sniffed. They smelt like…they smelt like Holtzmann: human and visceral and comforting. She wanted to bottle up the smell, and wear it on herself always. She shook her head clear, trying not to think about how creepy she was being, and began to get dressed, finding her underwear in the pile of her gross clothing. The shirt slid over her head and hung loose, while the jeans rested on the bones of ankles, slightly too short. She slid on her ghosthunting boots, before casting a look around the room. Her eyes landed on a grey NASA sweater cast on the floor by the side of the bed. She debated for just a second, before giving in and reaching over to it, sliding it over the t-shirt. It was snug and huge against her body. It smelt like Holtz. She wanted to bury herself in it.

Pleased with her decision, Erin scooped up the rest of clothing in her arms and walked through to the kitchen. Holtz was humming softly to herself. Erin coughed lightly, and Holtz spun round to face her, smile rising at the sight of Erin in her clothes.

‘Thanks. Again, Holtz.’

‘It’s nothing. I like your sweater.’

Erin looked down at herself, cheeks pink. ‘Thank you.’

‘It matches your eyes.’ Erin laughed and Holtz grinned, pleased with the response. Her eyes drifted to Erin’s arms. ‘I got that,’ she declared, striding over and forcefully taking the pile.

‘Holtz you don’t…you don’t have to do that,’ protested Erin, weakly. ‘I’m just-I should just go home and sort my life out. And go to bed.’ Holtz ignored her, taking her own clothes out of the washing machine and replacing them with Erin’s.

‘Holtz.’

‘It’s easy. We can do a clothes swap tomorrow. I’ll bring it in brand spanking new I swear. Unless you use special detergent.’ Holtz looked up at Erin. ‘You’re not allergic to anything are you?’

‘No. But-‘

‘No buts. It’s fine.’ Holtz stood up. ‘You just go home and rest. If you want.’

Erin felt bad. She didn’t really want to leave, but she was tired and too scared to ask to stay the night. Too scared of Holtz to do that.

‘I can stay a bit. For the coffee?’

Holtz came up close to her face, studying. Unnerving her. ‘Nope. Tired. Bed.’

‘But…you made coffee,’ tried Erin.

‘I’ll drink it. Now go, before I change my mind and recklessly ask you to stay the night.’ Erin heard the joke, but she also heard the awkward truth behind it as Holtz practically pushed her to the door by her shoulders. If Holtz asked…she wanted to curl up in Holtz’s bed and never move. All she had was a sweater to suffice.

‘Oh, wait!’ Holtz dashed back through her apartment, leaving Erin bewildered. It wasn’t long before she returned. ‘Here.’ She shoved the book into Erin’s hands. ‘Read it?’

Erin looked down at the book, before catching Holtzmann’s earnest gaze. Erin nodded once.

‘Okay.’

Holtz grinned. ‘You’ll love it. _And,_ now you have an excuse.’

‘An excuse?’

‘To come back here,’ replied Holtz, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Erin couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

‘I need to return the clothes anyway,’ she reminded.

Holtz shook her head. ‘Keep them. I don’t need them. They look…I like the look. I like the way the look looks. On you.’ Holtz was looking anywhere but Erin, coughing slightly.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Holtz paused. ‘Now go. Sleep.’ Holtz began to push her forcibly out the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early.’

‘Bye Holtzmann.’

‘Go to sleep Erin,’ called back Holtz, watching as Erin made her way down the stairs. She stood, watching in the doorway long after Erin had left. The mugs of coffee grew cold on the counter, and Holtz berated herself. She should have asked her to stay. She would have stayed. She was still too scared. So scared of Erin Gilbert.

Eventually she went back inside. She poured the coffee down the sink, before sitting back down in front of her disassembled clock. She fiddled aimlessly, conscious of the quiet in a way she hadn’t been an hour earlier.


End file.
